Decrescendo: An Anthology
by YushiNat
Summary: A collection of one-shots- plots mostly from YushiNat's imagination... but you can make requests. After a long time of absence, Decrescendo No. 5 is now up!
1. Chapter 1

**Decrescendo No. 1: Ravenclaw Wit, Slytherin Cunning**

Thor and Loki Odinson have always been two entirely different entities. Though brothers, not only their houses are different, but their very personalities as well.

Where Thor is jolly, Loki is… errrr… for lack of better word, reflective; where Thor is sunny, Loki is moony; where Thor is bright, Loki is all dark and brooding; and most of all, where Thor is all Gryffindor courage, Loki is resplendent of Slytherin cunning.

Every girl in the school has talked about their repressed fantasies of being fought over by the pure blooded brothers. Every girl. Well, perhaps save from little miss Jane Foster.

Jane Foster is a Ravenclaw amongst the Ravenclaws. She may not be Grade A neat and extremely passionate of rendering other houses speechless out of ignorance, but she has the greatest love of knowledge. Never has there been a student as "in love" in knowledge as Jane Foster. She could stay up all night, discerning the stars; she could burn the whole Sunday away in the library, reading books; and she could remain isolated in the potions dungeons, forgetting breakfast, lunch and dinner until muggleborn Hufflepuff Darcy Lewis shoves a good-old poptart into her gaped mouth.

Jane had remained in anonymity for quite some time. She aced her tests occasionally- she was the name who comes out second to the less sunny Odinson- a feat no one applauded her for. And she was quite fine with that, for her more competitive side cannot bear to be second of anything.

Everything was peaceful for Jane. That was until the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and brother of the eternally-number-one-Loki-Odinson, showed his interest on her.

It had been an adorable infatuation. And Jane, as any warm-blooded witch would have, fell for it. Perhaps it was the idea of Thor- in all his blondness and warm smiles- waiting for her class after class and carrying her things. It was an innocent sort of relationship- a game they willingly played and went around in circles for, until his seventh year (Jane's sixth) when Thor woke up to the obvious fact of his worship to Sif and Jane had enough of the doting kind.

They broke up without much qualm and remained friends even after then.

Now, at seventh year, Jane goes back to what she does best- discerning the stars, burning Sundays in the library and "trapping" herself in the potions dungeons, forgetting breakfast, lunch and dinner. Darcy is only more-than-happy to go back to her "poptart duties" too. She's only being sentimental… Jane reckons.

One particular Sunday afternoon in the library, near the restricted section- her usual spot, a rather unusual person chose to sit at her table. Without permission, the chair directly in front of her slides back.

Jane averts her gaze from the book of Ancient Runes, only to meet the blank stare of a certain green-eyed, night-haired Odinson.

She doesn't particularly like Loki. In fact, in all her nicety and forgiving nature, she can even go as far as to say that she loathes the ground he walks on. Whilst she remained invisible to the rest of her batch mates, Loki noticed her. The moment he saw her name below his on first year, he (he didn't confirm this, but she is quite sure) made it his personal interest to spite her and goad her.

Back then, he was the scrawny, hateful existence shrouded by the shadow of his Golden Boy of a brother. (It's still a mystery to Jane how this came to be as from experience, she can attest that the older Odinson is not exactly the sharpest pencil in the case.) But now, the boy grew out of all the awkwardness, becoming the charming little snake with the looks, the wit and the skills.

She would need loads of Firewhisky to deal with the shit that he's about to throw.

"Hullo, Jane", he greets after settling down the seat. He pulls a book from her stack and begins aimlessly browsing through it. _For the love of… Did he not choose any reading material? Why does he have to steal from mine?_

Jane tries to ignore him for a few minutes, but the annoying rustling of the pages and the penetrating look he's been throwing at her coaxes her to look up from her book.

"What do you need?" she manages to ask through gritted teeth.

He smirks. He has the gall to smirk! Can Slytherins even manage to just "smile" and not "smirk"? "Now Miss Foster, there is no need for display of such an… ah… animalistic nature. Do wipe that charming grin off your face. I only want to properly talk to you. I believe we have not conversed in civility yet."

She grumbles under her breath, "And whose fault do you think that is?"

"Pardon?"

"No. Nothing… I never took you for the _civil talking_ kind."

"You never took me for anything. See, you only dated my brother… you never thought of meeting his family."

"And now, isn't it a tad bit too late to even try and meet his family? Why don't you divert your unwanted attention to Sif? Your brother's dating her now."

A slam. The voluminous tome shuts, so does her book. Wandless magic… _He can do wandless magic?_ Great. Now, it's ticking her.

Loki folds his hands atop the tome, crouching a bit to level her shorter line of sight. "I hope you don't mind. I got rid of the distractions for a while. Now… where was I. Oh… To answer your wonderful question; No. I don't want to. I'm not interested in Sif."

 _Interested? So what am? Some type of bizarre specimen?_

A low chuckle bubbles from the young man in front of her. "For lack of better word, yes you are."

"You can read minds?"

He considers her- as if trying to unravel the mystery that is her hypothesis. "Nope. You are just… a bit far too vocal of your thoughts. You should try and manage that."

She rolls her eyes.

He withholds the urge to pinch her. He clears his throat, "Don't get me wrong, Jane Foster. I just want to talk to you. I've been wanting to for some time now. My brother did tell me that I should try to do so… We are very much alike- you and I."

"We are nothing alike."

"Whatever you say", Loki shrugs. "I can see though… that you are as passionate as I in pursuit of knowledge."

She waves him off, still not biting his pointless attempts of reconciling the two of them.

"Are you not **curious** of my wandless magic?"

Jane's mouth opens to say something. No. She should remain steadfast. She should remain strong. She closes her mouth once more.

The scene makes Loki grin- a not so good kind of grin… it's the type that conspires.

"Of course you are… curious", he enunciates every word slowly. He lets each sink into the girl. "And you have every right to be. In fact, I would give you the opportunity to examine it closely. I could even teach you."

And… wait for it…

Loki pats himself inwardly.

Jane faces him fully, pure delight lighting up her face. "You would? You could?"

He feigns disinterest. Well, not too much disinterest, as she could lose interest as well. "Why yes… I would and I could."

"But? What's the catch?"

"There's no 'catch', Jane Foster", he rolls his eyes.

"Great! When do we start?!"

"Eager are you? Sunday. Room of Requirement… you've been there before, right?"

"Once. I can still recall where it is though."

"Very good. See you then. Now if you'll excuse me, I still need to go to Quidditch practice… wouldn't want to give you nerds the chance to kick my brother's sorry ass."

A raise of an eyebrow, "Oh yeah? I bet we **will** trample you to the ground."

He grins, "Want to make a bet?"

"I'm listening…"

"If I win, you ought to wear my house colors in the champions. If you win, you get to make me do **anything**. You have me at your every beck and call for a whole week."

"Aren't you getting the shorter end of the deal? You are a Slytherin, you should think of getting the better end no matter what."

"And you know this because..?"

She gives him a blank look. There it is... the Ravenclaw in her- the part that saddens in the lack of wit.

Loki peels himself off the chair. "Just be thankful of my _benevolence_ , Jane Foster. I should really go now."

And he leaves the library with a wide grin on his face.

He was not only able to trick her into spending a day with him. An opportunity far too good to pass up came and he only did what should be done. He grabbed it. He has always wondered how she would look, covered in his house colors. He has always wondered about plenty of things concerning her. Loki chuckles to himself. But yes… this should do for now.

He makes his way straight to the Slytherin dorms. He needs to prepare his jumper and his scarf, for her to wear. He's not only winning their bet. He is sure that he will win.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hey there. Yes. I took my time._

 _I am resurrected! I rise from my chaotic grave of medical texts and press works! Ohohohoho..._

 _Anyway, moving on. This second story was inspired from Only Lovers Left Alive... well, partially. Just the thought of spending an eternity with someone. I've also been burning too much time in YouTube, streaming through videos. I came across a video about Roman slavery, so yeah..._

 _Oh, and before we begin. I'd just like to answer that generous comment..._

 _Chiafun: Thanks for the comment. Actually, I was aiming for the grade-school-like-like head canon of Dramione shippers. So we can roughly say that he has been crushing on her since they were first years. That would mean, he's been fancying her all throughout her relationship with Thor. Ouch... Rival-zoned Loki._

* * *

 **Decrescendo No. 2: To Waste Away a Literal Eternity with Someone**

She wakes buried under a grave of green sheets caked with dirt and dust. How many years have passed? A century? Two centuries? No matter…

As she sits herself up, she notices the absence of light in the room.

After further inspection, she realizes the lack of a presence keeping vigil.

She is alone.

* * *

" _You are far too eager for death."_

" _I am not. I merely stopped minding its constancy."_

 _He does not question the rudeness of her answer. It is her small resistance- a sure sign of her now barely there rebellion against his authority. He hums, combing his fingers through her newly tended brown locks._

 _She winces- a reflex._

 _His leg is pillowing her head and she is not too keen of their position. It is far too intimate… far too dangerous._

" _An apt response. You have just trumped the most valiant Roman general. So, will you give me the honor of knowing your true name?" he asks, fingers still working through her hair in a mesmerizing rhythm._

 _She gives him a covert intrigued look. How can someone like him be one of the Roman Emperor's Triumvirate? And they call him a wise? Him? A man who is incredibly clueless of the cruelty of an unsheltered life? Still despite of her better judgement, she indulges him. Without meeting his eyes (for looking at your master straight in the eyes is considered an act of defiance, which can earn a slave like her plenty of lashings, and her master's idea of lashing is no ordinary) she answers._

" _I have none, Dominus."_

 _His fingers stop, "Pardon?"_

" _I have no name."_

 _He pauses, clearly weighing his next actions. And then, "Yes… yes. You do not need one. Names attach a soul to another… names complicate things… names can trigger unwelcomed feelings… names confuse and lets one fear the unknown merely because one knows what the unknown is called. Hence without one, there shall be none."_

* * *

It takes her a whole hour to find the motivation to move. One by one, she plants her small feet down to the equally dust-laden carpeting.

Spider webs now serve as extra layer of curtains- an unwelcomed ghastly white overgrowth against her once abhorred crimson drapes. The heavy cloth may be far too gaudy for her tastes but she cannot bear the thought of wasting their apparent beauty to the eight-legged abominations.

It is a wonder how she herself is not caked with filth, nor covered with the same finely-threaded webs.

Perhaps **that man** left her with a swathing of spell as a last act of apparent generosity.

* * *

 _The blade traces the expanse of her left arm._

" _It will hurt", he murmurs._

 _Her master's chambers remain in its usual impressive splendor underneath the moonlight and through the ominous shadows cast by the nearby fire. The curtains are drawn, letting in the merciless chill of the dark night. There is not a trace of the characteristic metropolis stench she had come to associate to "home". Her master's villa by the sea bathes in the air of salt, sand and tang with a hint of fish. It is a paradise away from the tumultuous status of Rome._

 _Although befuddled of his remark, she bites back. "Then it will be nothing new."_

 _He draws a perfect slant across her forearm. Blood wells out of the injury._

" _It will hurt much, much more… more than what you are used to", he bends and licks the trickling ruby red liquid. Her eyes follow the flick of his tongue._

 _He straightens up, not meeting her gaze. With the same blade, he makes an identical cut across his own forearm._

 _Blood bubbles out- red and true like hers._

 _He holds out his injury, finally meeting her inferior muddy brown eyes with his shimmering emerald ones. "Your turn."_

" _Dominus?"_

" _Lick and swallow."_

 _A wave of chilly breeze blows, sending shivers up her naked back. She squeezes her eyes then complies her master's command._

 _He is a cruel man. That she knows for sure. But never has he once used her sexually. She reckoned that it shall remain that way for she is valuable in other aspects. No. Not because of her small, breakable build nor her inadequate_ _ **assets**_ _. She is a valued slave because of her knowledge. She knows how to read and write. She knows literature and culture (not so much in arts). She knows science and she knows the heavens. She is wise and her master had taken the habit of asking her questions._

 _Her knowledge and wisdom keeps her safe from sexual advances… well, until tonight._

 _He summoned her into his chambers past decent hours and commanded her to undress. Undress she did. He throws away his own valued toga and pulls her to the center of the dark room._

 _Now here she is, an odd blend of unease, fear, curiosity and chill._

 _The taste of rust and salt assault her senses. She has always wondered how cannibals and predators fare in the taste of human flesh. Still, even after having a lick, she wonders the same. She is far too busy concentrating on her task to ponder on the lingering aftertaste begging to be noticed._

 _A flurry of rapid Latin words and a burning sensation crawling up the pits of her womb…_

 _It is the otherworldly pain- a pure, unfiltered abuse of her every sense. It burns. It bites. It corrodes._

 _She blacks out._

* * *

Her state of undress does not stop her from drawing the curtains. It is time to behold the outside world.

She stands at the center of the room and holds out both hands; the curtains open; the windows and the door open; the cake of century-old filth rolls out of the room; the fireplace, the chandelier and the candelabras light up. Animation, not life, brings the estate in the middle of the Scandinavian forest back to activity.

It is one of the paltry tricks **that man** taught her.

"Now, let us see what has become of the world", she twists her body to the direction of the opened window and looks.

Silhouette of spires, glass and box-like architectures peek above from the foliage of the dark virgin forests, to the skyline of early spring Scandinavia.

"Queer…" one step in front of the other. Still, in the state of undress, she places both hands on the dark wood frame of her window and peers out the modern world.

* * *

" _You will need a new name", says the man in front of her._

 _They are aboard a boat crossing the Baltic sea, away from the life_ _ **he**_ _had once lived as Loki and she had once (forcibly) lived as Sigyn. It is a cruel ruse to exist as evasive gods to a people (who has now fallen) living in the bizarre culture of wars, plunders and sailings._

" _Oh?" she rearranges her skirts._

 _Hundreds of years with him, and she still cannot fathom why he chose her._

" _We are settling down on the land Hadrian built that wall on…"_

" _With the Angles?"_

" _I am quite sure that they go by the name "English" now. "England" is the name of the country."_

 _Hundreds of years ago, when she was his slave and he was her master, she feared him using her for sexual purposes… so much that she trembled at the thought of being in the same vicinity as him. But after that fateful night, her fears were reduced to mere imprints of the past. He would never dare, she reckons._

 _So she can forego all clothing in a space she shares with him and still, she would feel safe. He would_ _ **never**_ _touch her in fear of her being upset, leading to her death and his._

 _Not that she never tried to kill herself._

 _She had her fair share of incarceration and bondage because of her attempts. But now, centuries later, she_ _ **warmed**_ _at the thought of the privilege of watching the earth grow old and witnessing the rise and fall of different civilizations._

" _Jane."_

 _Her head snaps to his direction. He is behind her, sitting cross-legged on the cabin bed- arms crossed and one hand cupping his chin in perusal._

" _I heard it is a common name."_

 _ **Jane**_ _, she tests it with her tongue. It shall be the name she will carry for the rest of the next centuries._

* * *

After a thorough investigation of the estate, she concludes that she has been alone for a long time.

However, as her hand traces the walls and the columns, she feels the steady pulse and thrum of **him**. He never left her unprotected. And now that her senses have fully returned, she can smell that even the breeze blowing into **her** property is heavy of magic. It is the same smell- rust, salt, sand and tang.

Has he forgotten her?

Has he abandoned her to her own devices?

No. She should not be too sure. A century- or two- is but a short time.

She makes a decision to go out of the estate and see the world.

* * *

 _Her hand traces the letters imprinted on crisping page. It is a valuable tome._

 _With rapid_ _ **scritches**_ _and_ _ **scratches**_ _, she inks her own thoughts on the stack of papers._

 _The door slams open. In strides a tall man, perhaps in his mid-20s, dressed in expensive furs and real gold._

 _She doesn't speak. She continues her activity._

" _The bloody Spanish has brought the inquisition to England! I should have acted years ago and sailed for France!"_

 _She doesn't reply, opting to be the calm one in the room._

" _Did you hear me, Jane?! That quim of a housewife will be burning Protestants left and right!"_

 _Jane rolls her eyes, finally averting her attention from her work. "Are you even a Protestant?"_

 _He lets out a sigh. "No."_

" _Then_ _ **Luke**_ _, do stop the useless yelling."_

" _But-"_

" _We leave for France… if that is what you want."_

" _Our trade-"_

" _Will be fine even if you manage it from France. Ships do not stay on land you know. They sail."_

* * *

Jane roams undetected in the nearby city for quite a while. She replicates the clothing of the first woman she meets- an ensemble composed of some loose breeches, laced closed footwear and loose button up shirt left open to reveal a body-hugging sleeveless garment. It is a far cry from how women used to dress. It is different, but in a good way.

A lot of things have changed.

There is a new song of freedom singing in the air and it intoxicates her. Centuries she had borne, shackled by something in every dawn of new age- first her enslavement, then her immortality, followed by her femininity and the last one, her _radical ideas_.

But now, it seems that the world has moved.

She takes in every detail of the human city she is exploring- the people, the vehicles, the establishments, the food… even the animals. She tastes the present time's cuisine… only to be disappointed by the clinging aftertaste of his magic- the taste of rust, salt, sand and tang.

Absentmindedly, she looks up.

A metal bird of some kind zooms across the sky. A vehicle..? And they ridiculed Leonardo's ideas of flight… she smiles, thinking on how the Italian jack-of-all-trades would have reacted. _What is it called?_

' _Airplane…'_

"Airplane", she tests with her tongue. She wants to ride one.

* * *

" _A revolution?"_

" _Oui."_

" _Finally, the French are doing the right thing. This will change the course of history."_

" _So", with practiced ease of several centuries, he raises an eyebrow. "We march with them through the Parisian streets, yelling 'Vive le France'? It does remind me of a certain farm girl you now. The one back in Rouen… Who is she again? I seem to recall that they burned her to ashes, then sainted her afterwards."_

" _Please Loki... Don't tell me you had nothing to do with her burning. You were the one who lighted the flames."_

 _He bites his lower lip, willing himself not to laugh. He would have been horrified of the thought that he is currently laughing from the death that he tried to clean his conscience from. Yes. He was born in brutal times. He was Roman for sanity's sake. He was practically raised to embody sadism. He grew up finding amusement from gladiators being bloodily fed to lions. He became a man who can slit the throats of slave children without blinking an eye. But he metamorphosed far from that… his people's principles- his brother's, his father's- are wrong. Death is never justice. He aged well and he learned well. Still, the world should indulge him of his macabre humor for a while._

" _I do not deny that. I am proud to have had a hand in turning her into a saint."_

" _Loki!"_

" _Loki!" he mimics her, laughing all the while. "You know that does remind me… you seemed to be too used to referring to me through my name back when we were_ _ **gods**_ _."_

 _She tilts her head, curious at his pensiveness. "Though I seemed to dislike those times… I am actually fond of them you know. And you look like a 'Loki'. It fits you."_

" _I do not know how I should feel with that. The Harbinger of Ragnarok and God of All Things Chaotic?"_

" _No. You are not the God of Chaos. You are straying to the wrong mythology… and the_ _ **God**_ _of Chaos is actually the_ _ **Goddess**_ _of Chaos… Strife and Discord. I am Greek you know."_

" _Well, you are French now."_

 _Jane laughs, "And I am Viking, English, Italian, Austrian, Prussian and Spanish too."_

" _Do not forget Roman, my dear."_

 _His response makes her pause a touch. Then, "I was never a Roman citizen. You are being forgetful."_

 _He remembers. She was his slave… slaves were furniture. They were not people._ _ **Servus non habet personam…**_ _Loki frowns. 'But if Jane is not a person, then he's been alone the whole time?' He recalls those days when she would call him 'Dominus'- 'Master'._

" _Forgetful…" he says wistfully. "That does remind me. You haven't called me 'Dominus' for a long time."_

 _It is Jane's turn to frown now, "I've never called you 'Dominus' since Rome fell."_

" _Have you ever thought that I would have liked you to continue calling me such?"_

 _Jane stares through him, pondering. "No. Never."_

 _Those days are never easy to recall. They are painful- the embodiment of pain itself perhaps._

" _Odinaltus Lucius."_

 _She snaps back from her reverie, "Pardon?"_

" _That was my name", he rolls his eyes._

" _Ah… yes. One of Odinaltus's triumvirate- the arrogant one who claimed to be the most educated."_

 _His eyes narrow, "I was not arrogant… and I am the most educated. I had Greek tutors-"_

" _And apparently you also got your hands on a Greek slave girl who is, also, wiser that you."_

" _You wound me. I am older you know."_

" _Age does not equal wisdom."_

 _Loki bolts up from his wing-backed chair, feigning offense. Jane stops herself from letting out a full blown laugh. He stares her down. She gladly meets his challenge. A moment later, the two of them succumbs to the storm of laughter._

 _The night is deep. The moon shines true through the window of their Parisian estate and their only source of light, save from the fire in the fireplace, is a single oil lamp. It is just like a reflection of_ _ **that**_ _night. But the air is free of the chilled sea breeze- the smell of salt, sand and tang with a hint of fish._

" _Well", he speaks after the torturous round of laughter. "I should be going back to my chambers. I need to wake up early tomorrow… visiting the port you know."_

" _Yes... yes…" she waves him off._

" _By the way Jane."_

 _She meets his eyes- a sign that he continue talking._

" _You are Roman. You were married to me."_

 _And he leaves her with that truth. They were indeed married back in Tudor England._

* * *

The first stop is Rome- now the holy city.

They never went back after its fall, not even when Italy gifted the territory to the Roman Catholic Church. They did reside in Italy for a bit though… even travel through Naples and Sicily. Jane was able to meet the infamous Lucrezia Borgia and her equally infamous family. Cesare had a charm of his own… that unholy cardinal. Loki was never fond of him.

She treads the path to their estate in Venice.

The building still stands, only with a few alterations made. Now, it is a hotel. She chose to stay there through the duration of her trip.

Next, she went to Germany- the territory that used to be Prussia.

Though the country was devastated by a war that transpired back when she was still asleep, it is still resplendent in its own charm. She was not able to investigate much, but she passed by what remained of their estate. Jane couldn't do much looking back, so she decided to learn about the war that almost killed off a whole race of people. She tried to know the man who rallied his own belief in change. Adolf Hitler reminds her of Napoleon.

After Germany, she proceeds to France.

Their estate there still stands, and it is still in good condition. According to the caretaker, it is now owned by a wealthy English man who rarely visits the country. She begged to be let in. With a bit of persuasion and a _little_ bit of magic, the goodly man did.

The interior only changed a little. Her portrait still hangs at the center of the dividing grand staircase though.

After the draining tour in the estate, she strolls through the modern Parisian streets. She spends five days in Louvre. She reacquaints herself with art… and she recognizes some of the pieces as theirs. Perhaps Loki donated them to the museum? She shakes away her thoughts and she climbs to the very top of the Eifel Tower.

A month later, she takes the flight to Spain.

She feels the urge to revisit the streets where Loki and she tried to evade the angry mob who were insistent in burning them to stake. She laughs as she tosses a coin to a fountain. She then makes a quick trip to Barcelona. The wine is amazing. It soothes her parched throat. It is nothing like the rubbish they serve in random modern day taverns.

She leaves Spain within three weeks, feeling the impulse of treading the places they travelled with Marco Polo in tow.

Jane doesn't know where to go first… they did visit a lot of places after all. She changes her mind and goes to America- the New World. There she experiences nightlife, hotdogs, ratty apartments and sex-crazed noisy neighbors.

She is scanning an atlas peppered with remarks, pictures and sticky notes (how queer is that?), biting her bottom lip. She's in JFK trying to decide where to go next after a solid year in the Big Apple.

She looks up to the list of flights.

 _London._

* * *

 _Is it madness? Is it madness that pushed the two of them to break after centuries of companionship?_

 _She does not care as she pulls on the collar of his offending shirt. For her, he is suddenly overdressed. He nips, he bites and he pries. She had never… For a woman who lived for a long time, her virtue remains mysteriously intact. She is a virgin. Even in the midst of the Renaissance, the pressure of men didn't wear her down._

 _She should have a shrine… she should be venerated and admired for being chaste._

 _A few more buttons and the two of them are as naked as the day they were born. He kisses her foot… then her knee… then her thigh… then her hip… and then her stomach. His hands curl beneath her knees, hooking up her legs to his hips._

 _Loki meets her eyes._

 _His emerald gaze burns her but queer enough, she is not in pain. He kisses her lips- solid and deep. He teaches her tongue a dance of pure pleasure. She moans, arching her little body. He groans._

" _Say my name", he rasps._

 _She has the audacity to put a distance between them and laugh. He frowns._

" _Which one?" she asks, eyes twinkling._

 _He frowns some more before the seeing the humor in her jibe. "Whichever you want." He smirks, bending his head to bite at her hardening nipple. She cries out._

" _Loki…"_

* * *

London is a busy hive of locals and tourists.

Jane doesn't bother to slow down and visit its tourist attractions. She chooses to walk, rather than ride any peculiar transportation though. She wants to take everything in.

It is nearly two when she feels the need to eat something. In the local's terms… She is _peckish._

The brunette in generic sweater-pants-boots-and-beanie pulls her menial luggage across the street to a chic-looking café. She wants to check on the state of English cuisine… Perhaps this café is a good start. She pushes the door open.

Chimes _clink_.

The aroma is welcoming- coffee… baked goods… spun sugar… tang… salt… rust… and… sand.

Jane's senses screech. She stands alert- her back rigid.

 **He** is here. **Loki** is here.

She catches a whiff of his magic.

Her eyes dart around… from booth to booth… table to table. And she sees him there.

He is still the same- all tall, dark and sinister (?) He smirks at the girl talking animatedly in front of him. He nods. He lifts up his cup and takes a sip.

"So this is where you are", and she pulls her luggage into the café.

* * *

 _The Scandinavian summer is delightful. Away from the stench of industrial London and the noise of Paris, it has its certain charm._

 _Jane is particularly taken by the foliage and the breeze._

 _It has been hundreds of years since she had last been here… hundreds of years since they left its security for English shores._

" _This does bring back memories", she smiles as he takes his seat at the edge of her bed._

 _He smiles back. He pulls the blankets up to her chin, chuckling at the sharp look she's throwing him._

" _Sweet dreams, love", he says as her eyes flutter close._

" _Mmmm…" she hums and drifts off to sleep._

 _Loki stands up. He holds out his hands; the crimson drapes close; the light of the candelabras and the chandelier extinguish; his spell envelops the sleeping girl in the four-poster bed, protecting her as she takes the nap that will probably last a century._

 _They have been evading this for almost two millenniums._

 _But now, she is far too spent. She has to sleep._

 _And sleep she does… she rests for the two of them. She rests for a whole century._

 _ **FIN.**_

* * *

 _Read. Review. Request a prompt._


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey there people! I just got back and I'm alive! Yes... I survived two hell weeks. Anyway... I'm so sorry for the long absence. I had to transition from being a mere mortal to being a Norse goddess in order to survive the exams. Seriously... salute to all college studs out there!_

 _Anyway... yes, I am planning to write a Viking AU. Though currently, it is still under intensive research. Also, to dispel rumors... in Decrescendo No. 2, they are not vamps. They are sorcerers of some sort... sorry for the unclear details. But yeah, I am yet to write a vampire AU fic._

 _For now..._

* * *

 **Decrescendo No. 3: Bargain**

They say that if you gain the favour of a god, divine intervention would be strong- strong enough that even if your whimsy dictates that you desire purple to replace blue, it shall be done. Still, however appealing the thought of having a supreme being wrapped around your little finger, mortals are careful not to pique the interest of them (gods). They've been warned of tales. One of which relating the misfortune of Cassandra- blessed with the gift of unravelling the future by Apollo, only to be cursed of doubt by the same god for not returning his affections.

Gods are fickle.

Gods are immovable to betterment, perhaps partly due to their endless life force and powers.

Whatever the cause, mortals have always been careful not to become too… interesting, lest they attract the unwanted attention of some unsavoury immortal.

Such has always been the belief of Loki. It has always been the undeniable truth- a truth that he, himself discerned.

Sure, there have been some who foolishly thought they could strike a bargain with one or two immortals (mostly with those frivolous Olympians), but no one- NO ONE- has ever managed to close a deal with him. Not only is he a feared god, (No. Anything is possible for a desperate man, even face his fears) he also does not recklessly hear bargains- unlike his oafish of a brother who's far too fond of mortals.

It is a cosmic joke, in fact.

He, Loki, the God of lies, mischief and magic (and sometimes, of knowledge and its pursuit), who's known to adore well-formed bargains hasn't stricken a single bargain in the whole duration of his pitiful existence.

"What is your answer?" the mortal woman in front of him asks.

He mounts his head on his interwoven fingers. Jormungandr, the world serpent that he had created a millennia ago to steal one of Idunn's apples (and **NOT** his child as what some of those dull mortals would believe), hisses and slithers round his feet. Loki raises his emerald eyes to take a better look at the mortal woman's expressions.

Interesting… she seems calm at the sight of his Jormungandr. The lot of her kind would tremble upon seeing the snake- one of the many reasons why he went on without a single bargain his whole life. Not that it concerns him.

"You wish to strike a bargain with me?" he enunciates each word carefully.

The woman narrows her muddy eyes, obviously doubtful of his intelligence.

He smirks

Let her doubt.

"Yes. You **are** Loki, right? The god of knowledge and its pursuit?"

"No. I am Loki- god of **lies, mischief, magic, knowledge and its pursuit**. Honestly mortal, if you wish for my favour, you ought to remember even just that-"

"Jane."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Jane. Not… mortal."

He rolls his eyes, "I will call you what I want when I want. As of now, your name is not worth remembering. You have not gained my favour."

 _Jane_ wrings her hands, but does not dare to step a little closer to his **throne**. Rarely does he sit on his throne in his temple. From what he can remember, he has not sat on it for the last three hundred year. "But, don't you love bargains?"

"Yes. You, mortals, seem to believe that. Let me tell you this secret though… I only strike bargains with those who have my favour."

"And I do not?"

"That is obvious… far too obvious."

"Then…" she releases a breath, stepping closer to his throne this time. "How do I gain it?"

Loki's temple, unlike the others, is a closed tower of coral stones, polished black slate and molten, shaped jade. It has one of the most expansive libraries in all of Midgard. All in all- the riches inside can rival that of the god of wealth's. The knowledge and the gold trinkets it contains amount quite a hefty fortune. But then, those who choose to stay here face the daily issue of missing the warmth of the sun. They wake up in darkness, with only the light of thousands of oil lamps, candles and hearths. Fortunately, the temple stands on the top of a frozen mountain, where it's always winter and summer's but an elusive term.

Why does he remember this now?

See… this mortal, Jane, grew up in his temple. She had never known the sun, until she was twelve- old enough to venture down the mountains with her foster father, a scholar-monk named Erik.

It is beyond Loki's understanding why she decided to come back up here with Erik a week after she came down with him.

"Are you certain? That you want to gain the favour of a god?"

"If you are asking me if I am sure that I really want to strike a bargain with you, haven't you remembered what I prayed? I told you… and these are the exact words- I wish to strike a bargain with you."

Yes. Indeed. Those were the exact words.

But, what could have warranted this woman to do so? His curiosity is getting the better of him.

"If you don't mind me asking, mortal…" he leans back to the rest of the throne. "What drives you to this madness?"

Jane does not know whether this is a good sign or not. As a child, she was told that this god is a difficult god. The ambiguity of him hearing your prayers and granting them would be as good as your chances of their negation (which is a hundred per cent). Hence, the temple is never busy. It is actually more of a sanctuary frequented by scholars and patrons of all types of knowledge. Once in a while, of politicians (perhaps praying for the ability to lie convincingly?) and sometimes, of practicing sorcerers (there are only a few).

Without hesitation she answers, "I wish for mores- more knowledge. I wish for the stars."

Jormungandr entwines himself up the god's right leg, hissing all the while.

"It is said that you know Ygdrigassil better than all of the gods combined- better than Odin… better than the Olympian goddess of knowledge herself, Athena… or Minerva, as the Romans would call her. Am I wrong then? Should I have just gone to herd instead of you? I heard she is generous to those who love knowledge and seek wisdom-"

She's baiting him. Obviously…

"But she is not one to give **more**. And as what you have said, I know Ygdrigassil than all of the gods combined." Yet, he cannot stop himself from answering her.

 _Jane's_ lips quirk up a bit in the semblance of a smirk. She leans her weight partial to one foot.

Male ego is a horrible, horrible thing.

"Then tell me what I should do to fain your favour."

"It has never been done before. What makes you think that you will succeed? No."

"Then I will change that."

"Some things are not for changing."

"And yet the only constant thing is change."

"Wise words do not sway me."

"Then what sways you?"

"A good bargain", a cruel expression sharpens the lustre of his eyes. With the golden horns of his helmet, he almost looks like a damned Titan chained in Olympian Tartarus, meaning to trick a mortal to unfairness.

"But you do not strike bargains with those who have not… won your favour…" her tone falters. "Oh."

"Exactly…" a predatory, almost sincere smile, "Now, what have you come up with? Tempt me."

She tries to still her heart. A good bargain to win his favour, in order to strike a bargain… indeed , he lives up to his name.

Jane raises her chin proudly, "Anything you want."

Silence.

Then laughter.

"In case you do not know, silly mortal… I have everything I want."

"Lifetime servitude."

"Your lifetime is but a blink of an eye to mine. Raise your stakes. Your name, perhaps."

She closes her eyes. Names are powerful instruments. It is not unheard of for someone to exist in the guise of a false name. A name can bind you. It can indemnify you for eternity. She is not fool enough to do that… and even if she is, she does not have a name to offer. Only your flesh and blood can give you a **name**.

Being a foundling may very well be a blessing right now.

"I don't have a name."

"Too bad-"

"But I have a soul", she hastily recovers. No. She did not just say that.

Loki seems to ponder for a bit. Then, I guess that will have to do. He stands up from his throne. As he descends the dais's seven steps, as Jormungandr slithers down with him, he materializes a deep red apple in his hand.

The god tosses it to the mortal.

"Take a bite and the bargain is sealed… _Jane_."

The apple feels **odd** in her hands. She bites to humour him. Its deep red colour changes back to gold.

She pales.

"For what I have in mind… for what you have in mind… a mere soul is useless. It needs a receptacle. Rejoice! You have not only enticed me to strike a bargain. I have also given you an eternity to savour our deal."

She wants to dig the bite out of her stomach.

He holds out a hand for her to take, "Now, shall we? I will give you knowledge and more. I will even bestow you the stars."


	4. Chapter 4

_And thus, I am back... A little background on the prompt; one of my Profs is an advocate of blood donation. He told us about the "Walking Blood Donors" and I was like... the hell. This is the best opportunity. I'm gonna push through with my vampire AU!_

 _But seriously, do donate blood. It does not only help other people, but you as well. It's absolutely healthy. Plus, you get to save lives, which is awesome._

 _Moving on..._

* * *

 **Decrescendo No. 4** **:** **Walking Blood Donor (Vampire AU)**

Secrecy. Their society runs on secrecy… and mystery. It is actually ingenious. The secrecy and the mystery add more charm and that said charm keeps them fed most of the time.

But now there's chaos.

Jane curses. She hasn't cursed like this for years. She hasn't cursed since the Puritans became a huge hit.

Her stomach rumbles. Her canines are painful in her gums- persuasive to let them sink on human flesh and feel the wonderful, wonderful pulse of liquid life on their enamel. And Jane wants nothing more than to do just that.

Her stomach twists painfully.

The gaping wound across her chest is not closing. The hit had been far too close to her unbeating heart for her liking. One measly inch, or two, and she would have been reduced to mere ashes. She'll make them pay. She'll make them regret… some other time. Right now, her priority is blood.

She hasn't seen to her thirst for… she cannot quite remember. She was far too busy. Of what you ask? What could occupy the attention of a creature of the night _living_ amongst mere mortals for almost a millennia? What could be far more important than refuelling her life source?

That would be science.

Jane narrowly avoids an over speeding car. Her chest hurts. Her stomach hurts. Everything hers hurts. Is this what it's like to die? Is this what she has been avoiding for centuries? Then… she is rational enough to avoid it.

She winces, limping on her good leg.

She curses secrecy. She curses mystery. They did nothing but fuel the ignorance of humans. Had their society revealed their true intentions to these clueless children, she would have avoided this unnecessary suffering.

She stumbles on her feet. She has forgotten how to be clumsy. Years of vampirism afforded her of infallible sense of balance. She feels helpless… and in pain. So much pain.

Jane groans, bumping her forehead against the concrete pavement.

"How pitiful…"

She raises her muddy browns and a pair of leather lace-ups comes to view.

"I could just leave you here to bleed… but I'm heading to the hospital, and they say I can't just ignore the Hippocratic Oath."

There's a certain uncaring quality in his voice. It's as if he sees her as the dirt beneath his boots. Who cares? _Now what are you going to do, human?_

She feels herself being peeled off the concrete. Her stomach protests. Everything burns and raw hunger makes her throat acrid and acidic. Her olfactory sense is far too sensitive. She's dangerous in her current state. It's a miracle she hasn't jumped the human yet.

Under the broken streetlamp and in the midst of her mind-numbing hunger, she cannot see **him** clearly. There's only the sound of his steady pulse and the smell of the blood beneath his skin.

He lifts her effortlessly in his arms.

"Ma'am, I'm Loki- a doctor. The hospital is nearby and it is best that I take you there straight away. What's your blood type? Do you know?"

She cannot think straight. Her nose and her ear are aligned to the crook of his neck- an awful tease… an awful joke.

"'O' negative…"

"Pardon?"

With painstaking effort, she lifts her head. He strays his gaze. Browns meet greens. She smirks, levels her mouth to the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. She takes a bite, but does not drain his life. It takes a lot of effort- a lot of restraint. Still, she manages. "O" negative indeed…


	5. Chapter 5

**Decrescendo No. 5** **: We are from two rivalling families, but goddamn it! We will not be Romeo and Juliet!**

(Thank you Alexandra Cantarella!)

She flings the shutters of the ratty apartment open. Her uncle- the boss of their faction- told her off for a while. He said it is to _clear_ her brilliant little head. She knows better though. Erik Selvig doubts her loyalty. The apartment he sent her to is just a cover up for a gathering of the family's best men. Her movements are on constant monitoring, as well as her communication to the outside world.

She cannot risk revealing them- Loki and her.

Jane Foster lets out a sigh as she languidly mounts her head on top of her supporting right hand. With all her awkwardness, she manages not to worry herself of looking like a pining teenager. Loki is not here to tease her about it. That is the only good thing that came from their separation.

"Don't you think you are far too old to be _pining_?"

Oh give her a break. She didn't actually believe he'll make good of his promise to find her even in the depths of hell.

Jane dissolves her pose. She rights her gait, trying hard not to roll her eyes at the impossibility of their current situation; her- at the second floor of the apartment, him- at the grassy floor beneath.

Softness creeps from the edge of her sight. Two weeks of not seeing him do that to her. How unfair.

Loki's pallor is more evident than that it has ever been under the light of the fluorescent from fourth floor. His hair is longer too… and his face is peppered with unshaved facial hair. Darkness rims the brightness of his emerald eyes- the only part of him that stubbornly remains. It was the very pair of eyes that caught her attention a year ago at the casino. There is mischief in them… mischief and life.

"Look at you... telling me that I am pining when I am not. Why would I be?"

He bows his head, staring at the uneven grass beneath his feet. Jane worries that he would find the inane sight more interesting than her and decide to play with her by continuing his vexing diversion. To her relief, he raises his face to behold her once more. There is only the honest crease between his eyebrows.

"Come now Jane. I am not doing this with you. We are in fair Verona, rendezvousing under the pale moonlight- well, light bulb. You are trapped at the second floor of the prison your kinsmen deign label a haven; and I am stuck down here doomed to ever only go home after making enough googley eyes at you. We are not teenagers you know."

"I know."

"And we are not star crossed."

"Definitely not", she smirks at his denial.

"And we are not virgins. We've done the deed-"

"Sex, Loki. Just say it."

"Right. We have been at it like rabbits. So we are definitely not pure."

"Nope."

"But we will not die. I will not waste our time away in a failure of a plan to reunite, only to be thwarted at the final moment by some measly- I mean, the lack of one measly letter-"

"Are you drunk?"

"Jane-"

"If you are going to ask me to run away with you-"

He has the gall to look horrified of the prospect, "God, no." Before he could even explain himself, Jane purses her lips. Sensing that he has just dug a deeper hole for himself, effectively condemning him to the zero-conversation zone, he panics. Jane pulls the windows close. The hinges creak and the shutters almost fall off.

Loki groans. _That stubborn bitch…_

Thirty minutes later, he storms into the apartment with an army of his men.

An hour later, Erik Selvig takes off for Verona.

Two hours later, Loki's father attempts to reach him through the phone.

Two hours and thirty minutes later, a smartphone is found crushed at the helipad of one of the Odinson properties at Verona.

Three hours later, well… who knows?


End file.
